


New Beginnings

by rowdyhooligan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Mick is a bit of an ass, Protective Dean Winchester, Spells & Enchantments, Swearing, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 20:53:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17128559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowdyhooligan/pseuds/rowdyhooligan
Summary: A hunt gone awry leads to an unexpected- and unwelcome- reunion between Mick and the reader.





	New Beginnings

Ringing.

Loud. Annoying. Persistent ringing,  _right_  next to your ear. Blindly fumbling around in the dark, you switched on your bedside lamp, squinting against the sudden light. Your phone was still ringing away, the screen flashing the name of your caller. Forcing your blurry eyes to focus, you couldn’t help the groan that escaped. Three a.m. and a phone call from the Winchesters was never a good combination, especially when they were out on a case.

Clearing the sleep from your voice, you answered, “Sam, what’s wrong and how far out are you guys?”

“We need a healing spell, and about half an hour,” came his quick reply, the sound muffled as he turned to murmur something to Dean.

You frowned at the screen- it must have been serious if they were headed back to the bunker in need of help during the middle of a hunt. A loud yelp came from the speaker, catching you off-guard. That was definitely not Dean’s voice. You’d patched up the guys enough times to know what they sounded like when in pain, and that didn’t sound like either of them. “What’s going on? What happened? Who’s with you?”

“Listen, we’ll explain when we get there,” he said, his voice strained, “but right now, we need a bed cleared and the spell ready to go immediately.”

Worried at how severe the situation had to be to make Sam so anxious, you let it go. Sam gave you the basics of what happened: a witch- one decidedly less friendly than you- ambushed them. They weren’t hurt, but apparently an old ally of theirs happened to be working the same case, and was caught in the crossfire. Judging from the description of the powder the witch flung at him, it sounded like a standard curse, though it was hard to be certain. It hardly mattered; right now, someone was suffering, something you simply couldn’t allow.

Compiling a mental list of all the ingredients needed to counteract the worst symptoms, you hung up and made a mad dash for the room next door to your own, hurriedly getting it ready to receive your patient. Once that was seen to, you raided your stock of herbs and potion ingredients, brewing a pain remedy to have on standby. You wouldn’t know exactly what counter curse would be needed until you had a chance to examine it yourself, but the very least you could do was ease their suffering.

Your head shot up when you heard the front door burst open, Sam and Dean calling frantically for you. Racing towards the War Room, you came skidding to a halt when you caught sight of the man hanging from their shoulders. The last person you expected to be helping was Mick Davies.

The sound of Dean barking out your name snapped you back to the moment. “You got a place ready, cuz he’s heavier than he looks.”

“Y- yeah,” you stammered out, pushing aside your surprise, “this way. Put him in the room next to mine.”

They shuffled past you, the two brothers trying to be as gentle as possible. It didn’t seem to have much effect; the sound of Mick’s agonized moans echoed down the tiled halls, trailing them like a banshee’s wail. Taking a steadying breath, you followed after, determined to do what you could to help the former Man of Letters.

Laying Mick down, the brothers stepped aside to let you get to work. Ordering Dean to hold his mouth open, you forced the pain remedy down his throat. His groans quieted immediately, the potion easing the worst of his torment. Sam and Dean filled you in on exactly what happened, providing valuable details about the curse. You could have kissed them both when Dean pulled a plastic bag with some of the powder from his pocket, and Sam wrote down what he believed the witch said when he cursed Mick.

With both the spell and powder, it didn’t take long to work out the exact curse used. Anger licked at your insides, hot and bright, your hands shaking with rage as you set about brewing the counter curse. This was far from a standard curse; the sadistic bastard had used amplifiers, ensuring that anyone afflicted would be in excruciating pain from the moment the last word was uttered. The counter curse, while effective, wasn’t much better, possessing several side effects of its own.

There was nothing to be done about it. Holding the bowl of potion ingredients over your head, you mumbled the incantation, pouring your magic into the counter curse. The Winchesters watched, brooding shadows as the power of the spell was activated, moving to hold Mick down at your instruction. Tipping the bowl’s contents into his mouth, you offered a silent apology.

The effects were immediate. Back bowing off the mattress, Mick gasped for breath, his hands flailing about. Grabbing hold of one, you let him squeeze as hard as he wanted, crooning reassurances you weren’t sure he understood that the pain would fade. His eyes locked onto yours briefly, and you saw a flicker of recognition in them before he doubled over, retching violently.

Scrambling for the garbage can, you held it still while he vomited up the contents of his stomach. The sound of gagging caught your attention; glancing up to see Dean looking decidedly green around the gills, you took pity and sent the guys to bed. There was no need for all three of you to be there, and they must be exhausted. It spoke volumes of how tired they must have been when they didn’t put up even a token protest, trudging off after making sure you had everything under control.

Just the two of you now, you focused on Mick. Easing him to his back once you were certain he was done emptying his stomach, you left to get him a glass of water and rinse out the trash can, grabbing him one of the extra toothbrushes kept in the bathroom and a clean washcloth. He was in for a rough night while the potion did its work ridding him of the curse; you could at least make him more comfortable.

Mick was pretty out of it when you returned to his room, groaning and gasping for air. Sweat covered his skin, his hair plastered to his forehead, shirt clinging to his chest. Tugging off his socks and shoes, you briefly wished you’d had the boys undress him before heading to bed, but too little, too late.

Squaring your shoulders, you set to work unbuttoning his shirt, trying to peel it free without jostling him too much. He didn’t put up any protest- not that he was in any position to- and once his shirt was off, you tossed it into the corner to be dealt with later and started on his slacks. Thinking back to your last encounter with the Brit, you almost had to laugh at the absurdity of your situation. Never in a million years did you think you’d see the day you were undressing this man.

Stripped down to his boxers, Mick began to breathe easier, his moans quieting a little. Wetting the washcloth at the tiny sink by the door, you wrung out the excess water and began wiping the sweat from his body, hoping to cool him down a bit. If you looked closely, you could see his veins glowing a dull purple under his skin, your magic coursing through them, rooting out the curse. He fell into a fitful sleep, sighing with relief when you drew the blankets over him.

“Bet you never saw this coming, huh, Mick?”

The rest of the night crawled by at a snail’s pace. You rarely left his side, keeping watch in case he had any adverse effects to the counter curse. Grabbing up the blankets from your bed, you made a nest for yourself on the unforgiving concrete floor, bundling up as cozily as possible- not an easy feat with the cold of the bunker seeping through your comforter.

Dozing, you did your best to ignore your discomfort, waking every half hour to check on Mick. Nodding off sometime around seven, the murmur of voices pulled you from sleep. Slowly coming awake, you realized you’d woken up in the middle of a whispered argument. Keeping your eyes shut, you listened in, curious as to what all the fuss could be about.

“…don’t get what the big deal is. In case you hadn’t noticed, she helped you. That curse was tearing you up and she saved you, so what’s your problem, Mick?”

“My problem,” came Mick’s raspy reply, “is that I wake up after one of the worst nights of my life to find a witch hovering nearby. How do you expect me to put my life in the hands of a monster?”

“Well, that’s a helluva way to say ‘thank you’,” you groused sleepily, cutting off Dean’s response. Climbing to your feet, you barely suppressed a grunt of pain at the stiffness in your joints. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes and bundling up your blankets, you continued, “It’s been a long time, Mick.”

He glared at you, though the fact that he was stripped bare to the waist and a little gray from the night before lessened the impact somewhat. Dean looked from you to Mick and back again, confusion written all over his face. “You two know each other?”

When Mick didn’t answer, you said, “I guess you could say that. Back when I first left my coven, the Men of Letters tried recruiting me to work with them. They wanted my help bringing down covens all over the world, and weren’t happy when I said no. They insisted, and I was forced to get a little…creative.”

“Creative?” Mick cut in, struggling to stand. He gave up when neither you nor Dean moved to help him. “My men and I were left blinded for a week because of your spell.”

“The effects were only meant to be temporary so I could get away- it’s not like you can’t see perfectly fine now,” you defended, “I never wanted to hurt anyone.”

Mick stubbornly ignored you. Turning to Dean, he said, “You can’t possibly expect me to trust something like her.”

“That’s harsh,” you muttered, not entirely surprised by his reaction.

Dean wasn’t as understanding, however. His voice got dangerously low, and he said, “Listen, I don’t care what little grudge you have. She isn’t a something or a monster, got it? She saved your ass when she didn’t have to- the very least you can do is show a little respect.”

Touched by Dean’s protectiveness, you bit back a bashful smile. The elder Winchester had never made any secret of his distrust of witches in general, but he’d always held a soft spot for you. That might have been because the first time you’d met them, you shielded Sam from a rogue ghoul, blasting the creature away before it could take a bite out of the younger brother. You’d earned his trust and affection, and he had made it clear in the past that he’d be damned if he let anyone hurt you.

Delicately clearing your throat, you tried to ease the rising tension.“So, what’s the plan on this witch? He’s still out there.”

“That’s what I came in here to tell you,” Dean replied, his voice losing its gruff edge, “Sam and I are gonna take another whack at taking this guy out. So until we get back, it’s just the two of you, okay?”

“That’s fine with me.”

You both turned as one toward Mick. He didn’t look any happier, huffing at the two of you. “Not like I have much say in the matter.”

“No,” Dean responded curtly, “you don’t.”

Escorting you out without another word, Dean studied you carefully as you remade your bed and brushed your teeth, concern written all over his face. Laying a comforting hand on your shoulder, he asked, “You really gonna be okay taking care of him while we’re gone?”

“I’ll be fine,” you reassured him, “just focus on the case- I’ve got Grumpy covered. The curse may be gone, but he’s gonna be pretty weak for a while, so he’ll just have to accept my help.”

“You sure?”

“Positive- now get going and take this son of a bitch down.”

“With pleasure. Call us if you need anything.” With one last peck on your forehead, he was gone.

Silence descended, thick and cloying. Aware that Mick lay in the next room, weak and in need of your help, you resolved to do what you could for the Brit, despite his intense dislike of you. Popping your head into his temporary room, you found him brushing his teeth, noting that he’d managed to pull his shirt back on. He still looked far too pale for your liking, his skin tinged a sickly gray.

“You know, a shower might help you feel better,” you suggested. “I’ll raid Dean’s closet for some clean clothes and get started on breakfast- think you can keep some food down?”

“I’m fine,” he replied, though his tone had lost its edge.

You weren’t convinced, especially when you noticed the tight grip he had on the sink, as if to stop himself from keeling over right then and there. Marching towards him, you ignored his sputtered protests, lifting a hand to his forehead to check his temperature. Though his skin was warm to the touch, he wasn’t feverish. Surprisingly, he didn’t try to shy away from your touch.

“Maybe just some broth,” you mumbled to yourself, “and ginger tea to settle your stomach.”

You turned to go, but stopped in your tracks when he took hold of your wrist. Glancing back at him curiously, you asked, “Something wrong?”

“Why are you doing this? Being so…so kind to me, after what happened last time? After the things I said?”

Smiling a little ruefully at the confusion in his voice, you said, “Because you need my help. I told you before, Mick- just because I’m a witch doesn’t mean I want to hurt anyone.”

He looked at you for several long, drawn out moments, clearly baffled. Trying not to fidget under the weight of his stare, you waited for him to speak. Finally, he relaxed his grip on you, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Thank you. For everything.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied, returning his smile with one of your own. Giving his hand a brief squeeze before letting go, you added, “I’ll get that soup going for you…and uh, no offense, but you might want to really consider that shower. You’ve got a bit of sick in your hair.”

Grimacing, he nodded in agreement, pale cheeks flushing in embarrassment.  “Right.”

With the promise of returning with the cleanest band t-shirt you could find, you headed to Dean’s room, the smile growing on your face. The next few days were going to be pretty interesting.


End file.
